


Evaluations

by Pemm



Series: Impulse [2]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 19:52:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1954104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pemm/pseuds/Pemm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything after that was kind of a blur. Pyro did remember slamming the last of their attackers into the wall and looking over at Pauling, though. Her cheek had been splattered with red, her hair down around her shoulders, her chest heaving.</p><p>That might have been the moment Pyro decided she absolutely needed to get her into bed, come to think of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Evaluations

In the end, they lost Upward to the BLU team. It might have had something to do with the fact that in the final moments of the round she and the enemy scout had been making out in a black, remote corner of the map, but whatever. There would be other fights, and she got paid either way.

They didn’t say goodbye. At the round’s end the scout had bolted to get to his team before they missed him, and Pyro just put her shotgun in her mouth. No one was going to ask her where she’d been if she was walking out of respawn.

On the last day before they all shipped out, though, she did catch sight of the scout on a balcony overlooking the road that would take them back home. She lingered behind the rest of the team until they went their separate ways, and then fired a flare off straight at him. She missed—barely—and threw him a thumbs up when he looked her way. He hollered something, but she was too far out to hear it, so instead she laughed, waved, and turned to go.

It was a shame they couldn’t get a goodbye fuck in, she thought. They’d managed to sneak a few more together in the last few days, each one better than the last as they figured one another out. Those were memories she’d be revisiting. Her only regret was how dark it had been most of the time, that far out from the bases, but it was a necessary evil. The last thing she needed was the higher-ups finding out she was screwing the enemy. That was the sort of shit she had nightmares about, but this time she couldn’t help herself. Impulse control wasn’t her strong suit.

A mere two days passed before they shipped out again, this time to Mountain Lab. It was a welcome change; that far north everything was cooler this late in the year, and a cooler climate meant less respawning herself from heat exhaustion.

It also meant pleasant surprises.

“So that’s the mission,” Miss Pauling finished, looking up from her clipboard and out at the nine mercenaries scattered around the meeting room. “Pretty standard for you guys, I think. Does anyone have any questions?”

“Yeah hey I was wonderin’ if you’re—“

“Does anyone who isn’t Scout have any questions?—Yes, Pyro.”

Pyro dropped her hand and cleared her throat, the sound warping under the mask. “Yeah,” she started, “I’m going to need you to repeat, like, everything you just said? I was too busy staring at your tits.”

Pauling hesitated. “Can anyone translate that?”

“Think she was askin’ about the map,” Sniper said.

Pyro grinned to herself. God, and the team wondered why she kept her mask on around Miss Pauling. Scout would beat her to a pulp if she knew the shit she got away with saying to their manager. Pauling might, too, come to think of it. The idea made her shiver.

Pauling was getting up, moving to sketch out the base’s layout on the chalkboard behind her. Pyro sat back and admired the view.

 

* * *

 

Pyro was at it again.

As Miss Pauling turned to the blackboard, she glanced down at her chest to make sure the buttons were done all the way up. She wasn’t precisely sure what RED’s only female member had said, but she had an idea. Regardless, Pauling didn’t feel the need to encourage her.

It was sort of impressive, how brazen Pyro was being with her flirting. Even through the chemsuit Pauling had been able to identify it—all that body language training coming in handy—and the lack of inhibition was nothing short of incredible. She would sling her arm around Pauling’s waist or shoulders, and according to the rest of the team, she never wore her mask as often as she did when Pauling was around. That made sense, since she could practically feel herself being undressed by Pyro’s eyes every time those lenses were pointed at her. More entertainingly, Pyro had developed the hobby of stealing Scout’s thunder when he was trying to show off. It worked, too. Flare trick shots were a lot more interesting than watching Scout flex.

Really, though. It was one thing to hit on your boss. It was another to hit on your boss of the same sex, and a third to have the guts, or stupidity, to do it while working for somewhere like RED.

The chalkboard squeaked under Pauling’s hand as she tried to analyze the jumble of muted syllables Pyro had rattled out. Nothing doing. She returned to the task at hand. “So these are the points we’re defending,” she began when the drawing took shape, and turned back to the team.

Scout was sitting with his hand straight up in the air. Pauling tried not to sigh. “Scout?”

“Hey so whatcha doin’ here in person anyway, ‘cuz I mean like, usually it’s all through TVs an’ all, jus’ wonderin’, an’ I’m wonderin’ if you ain’t got no dinner plans—“

“I’m here for the week,” Pauling said. “Team evaluations. You did all get the notice, right?”

“Hyhhh wwhe dhidd,” Pyro said, smacking Scout’s arm. “P’hhy mmhtenntin fhhr mmce.”

“Ow what the hell that freakin’ hurt, ya freakin’ nutjob, back off I oughta clock you—“

Pyro smacked him again. Scout shoved back, mouth still running. Pauling sighed.

This was going to be a long week.

 

* * *

 

A week wasn’t very much time, Pyro thought as she prodded the tan blob of clay in front of her the next afternoon, the last before the fighting began. She’d have to be quick if she wanted to make anything happen at all.

She stopped, scowling down at the clay. It was supposed to be a deer, but it more closely resembled a fat, long-legged dog at the moment. Even the sun streaming into her room couldn’t lend it any charm. It was a pity she’d forgotten her tools. Then again, it was a pity that she used to think she could sculpt. Enough so that she thought she could make a living out of it.

God, that had been a joke. A pyromaniac sculptor. Half her work exploded from being fired too fast, and the other half never sold. No one wanted sculptures of dragons and phoenixes. Of course, if in her frustration she hadn’t lit her whole workshop on fire one day—and then gone on an arson spree that would have put her in jail for life had they caught her—she wouldn’t be with RED right now.

So that was something.

Pyro flicked the deer’s lumpy head, and then got up. Maybe she could ask Engineer or Spy for something she could use to detail the clay.

Or maybe someone else would know. When she stuck her head into the wide dining hall, the only person at the table was—“Miss Pauling?”

Pauling looked up from the yellow notebook in front of her. Today she was wearing a dark jacket over a lilac-and-green buttoned blouse, and a deep brown skirt. It was a good look on her. Most looks were, though Pyro would have been more interested if this particular look had involved less clothing and more bosom-heaving. There was something gold holding up her bun, too, Pyro noticed as she sauntered nearer, flashing in the light. “Afternoon,” Pauling said pleasantly. “What’s up?”

Abruptly the ugly deer flashed through Pyro’s mind. She bit down on her tongue, the reason she was out and about silenced. Pauling knew, she was sure, that she used to be a sculptor, but she didn’t need to know that she was a shitty one. “Nothing really,” Pyro said. “You?”

“Just organizing a few things. I’ve gotten Soldier’s review done, and Demo’s, and I’ve got to get those filed before I get to anyone else.”

“Oh, cool. Hey, where have I seen that thing in your hair before?”

Pauling quirked her eyebrows, lifting a hand to touch it. She tugged it out with a flick of her wrist, and her hair spilled down her neck and shoulders. Hello, nurse. “Oh, this,” Pauling said, sounding amused as she turned the thing over in her hand. It looked like a knife, albeit one too dull to really be dangerous—though it might be just what Pyro needed for her clay. Even if it wasn't, she liked how the light caught it. She wanted it. “It’s my letter-opener. Yeah, I remember. You were there for that one, weren’t you? That time we got jumped, over in Egypt? You and me and Demo—no, they knocked him out. It was just you and me. I put out somebody’s eye with it.”

“That’s right,” Pyro said, snapping her fingers. That had been something. Pauling wasn’t the powerhouse any of the mercs were, not even compared to Pyro, but she had them all beat when it came to finesse. Pyro had barely realized what was going on before someone started screaming. She had turned around to see her manager standing over a man clutching his face on the ground, the golden letter-opener dripping blood in her hand.

Everything after that was kind of a blur. Pyro did remember slamming the last of their attackers into the wall and looking over at Pauling, though. Her cheek had been splattered with red, her hair down around her shoulders, her chest heaving.

That might have been the moment Pyro decided she absolutely needed to get her into bed, come to think of it.

Pauling was talking again. Pyro shook herself. “And afterward Demo said it was completely insensitive to him,” Pauling said with a shake of her head as she put her hair back up. “With the one eye and all. It’s an easy target!”

“Right, yeah,” Pyro said. Nice. Real intelligent-sounding.

She was saved from having to think of anything smart to say by a huge crash in the distance. Yelling followed, floating in through an open window that Pyro had not noticed before. The two looked at each other, and then Pauling shook her head and snapped the notebook shut. “Better go see,” she said, going off past Pyro toward the hall.

Pyro followed, but not until after taking a moment to get a good look at what Pauling’s skirt did to her legs from the back.

 

* * *

 

Pauling stepped out into the late sunlight just as another blast rent the air, smaller than the first. A familiar voice was rattling something off, and sure enough there was Scout, talking like his life depended on it. “—Freakin’ rockets of course I’m gonna defend myself, warn a guy willya, this ain’t even my fault—“

Next to him, Engineer stood by what looked like the remains of a sentry, pulling sooty goggles off his head. He was muttering something, and waved Scout off like a gnat. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Oh hey,” Scout said, expression brightening as he laid eyes on Pauling. “Hey, good-lookin’. Hey Pyro.”

“Yeah, hey, thanks,” Pyro muttered from Pauling’s side, crossing her arms, kind of sinking lower into her suit so her collar covered more of her scarring. “What the hell happened?”

“Aw Engie here thinks it’s cool t’just y’know leave his damn sentries out where anyone can get shot by ‘em, no big deal, freakin’ level-three sentries too an’ now he’s mad at me on account’a I hit a baseball into the dumb thing and clogged it up—“

“I made a point of informing y’all I was gonna be out here doin’ this at lunch today,” Engineer said, his voice like gravel. “There ain’t enough room anywhere else to test the fool thing, not with all these trees.”

“Look man if you got that thing shootin’ rockets at me on off hours what do you think I’m gonna do, you think I’m gonna stand around get blown up, no, hell no, an’ ain’t nobody’s even said ‘hey Scout nice swing,’ I got that ball right into the rocket thing, you got any idea how long it takes to be able to hit a ball that good, no I don’t think so, do they even got baseball in Texas, c’mon, hey, Miss Pauling, this ain’t my fault, right?”

“Well—“

“Yeah no it ain’t, see, the lady agrees with me—“

“The hell she did, you didn’t even give her a chance to talk,” Pyro said, loud enough to drown Scout out. His face darkened as he turned on her, and she put her hands on her hips. “Maybe if you’d ever shut up longer than thirty seconds you’d actually hear what she has to say.”

“Look, dollface, okay, thing is ain’t nobody asked your opinion.”

“You know what, it’s weird but that’s never stopped you before.”

“What is your damn problem? Just, just what is it, what the hell, you’re always bitchin’ me out about somethin’, last week it was that stupid BLU scout, now this, you got somethin’ to say to me? You wanna do this, let’s do it, let’s do it right now,” Scout said, straightening up and rolling out his shoulders. He leaned into Pyro’s face, and while Pauling was debating whether or not she should intervene, Pyro slugged him square in the chin.

Scout went reeling, falling flat on his ass in a burst of dust. He was up again in a heartbeat, every inch of him bristling. Before Pauling could do anything Pyro barreled straight into him—right into the exploded metal of the sentry. Scout’s pained screech sent nearby birds into the air.

It was Engineer that hauled Pyro off of him, grabbing her by the straps of her suit. She was snarling the whole way. “—Goddamn asshole loudmouth, how’s that feel, enjoy your respawn—“

“God’s sake, Pyro,” Engineer said as Pauling grabbed Pyro’s collar before she could dive back in. He looked down at Scout and grimaced—he had been gored in the back, and at least one ragged piece of metal had pierced him through the stomach. “Ugh. That’s a mess.” He sighed. “And me without a gun. Ladies, either of you—?”

While he had been talking, Pauling was already drawing the gun hidden under her skirt. Both Engineer and Pyro jumped when the shot rang out, and a hole appeared right between Scout’s eyes. He went limp, and the agonized sounds stopped. “Thank you, ma’am,” said Engineer. “Thought I was gonna need to break his neck to respawn him.”

“Mmhm,” Pauling said, returning the gun to her thigh holster. “Pyro, come with me, please.”

“What, why, I didn’t—I didn’t mean to—“

Pauling looked at her sharply. “ _Now_ , please.”

 

* * *

 

The door shut and locked behind them with a click. Miss Pauling leaned back against it, shutting her eyes to focus herself.

She opened them again, taking a deep breath. Across from her, Pyro was leaned up against the only interesting feature in the empty office room, a broad, squat desk. The dim fluorescent lighting cast her sullen expression in darkness, making her sulking all the more dramatic. At some point on the trip up here she had shrugged out of the top half of her suit, knotting the arms around her waist.

Pauling sighed. “Do you want to explain what that was about?”

“Scout’s an asshole,” Pyro mumbled. “I didn’t mean to kill him, I was just going to break his nose or something.”

“That’s not much better,” Pauling said. “You’re supposed to be part of a team, here, you know.”

“I am on the team! I’m a team player. It’s not my fault Scout’s a jerk, he was being an asshole to you and to Engie and to me—“

“But he’s always like that, Pyro.” Exhaling, Pauling folded her arms across her chest, taking a few steps closer. “You didn’t seem to care until he brought me into the picture. I think we need to talk about that.”

That got her attention. Her expression flashed from pissy to startled in an instant. “...Talk about what?”

“Well, the fact you’ve been hitting on me for nearly six months now might be a good place to start. I’m afraid you’re nowhere near as subtle as you think you are.”

Pyro was silent, watching her. A kind of tension lined her face, and for a few seconds Pauling got the rare chance to see her without mask or most of her suit, perfectly still. She wondered if Scout had ever bothered actually looking at his fellow mercenary—Pyro wasn’t conventionally good-looking, no, but neither was she ugly. Old burn scars chewed up her arms and reached up as far as her cheekbones, leftover tokens from the very string of arsons that had gotten RED’s attention, but they were old and cleanly healed. They did little more than pattern her skin in interesting ways, like camouflage on a predator. Her scruffy hair was a dark auburn and freckles sprawled over her face and shoulders, and she watched Pauling with uncertain green eyes.

The uncertainty was gone as quick as it came. Pyro gave her a smile, shoving her thumbs in her belt. “I guess I might have been,” she said, easing forward a little too close.

“Pyro.”

“It’s just, you know, there’s ways to treat a lady and Scout doesn’t know _any_ of them, and on the other hand I—“

“ _Pyro_.”

Pyro stopped mid-sentence as Pauling put up a hand between them. “Yeah?”

“First of all, it’s completely unprofessional,” Pauling said, straightening up. “Not to mention it’s against company policy _and_ commonly-held morality. I might even call it dangerous.” Pyro was grinning now. Pauling kept a straight face. “I’m being very serious, understand. This is your only warning.”

“Yeah? Or else what? I haven’t heard you tell me to stop yet.”

Pauling gave her a cool stare. Pyro’s grin got wider.

“Remember our talk, Pyro,” Pauling said, and turned to go.

“Oh, I will,” she heard Pyro say as she was opening the door. “I will.”

 

* * *

 

Things seemed to go back to normal over the next few days. The fighting began, which was always an enjoyable thing to watch (from a distance, though binoculars). Scout and Pyro apparently weren’t speaking now, though unfortunately that didn’t stop Scout from trying to talk her ear off nor Pyro from staring at her every time they were in the same room.

That aside, there were no more incidents like the one with the shattered sentry. Her reviews progressed smoothly, and everything looked good, though Demoman was insisting he needed an official whiskey ration and Medic had apparently been growing something that was absolutely not company-approved in his infirmary. (It had tried to bite her.)

At last, though, with two days left until the TFI helicopter would arrive to return her to headquarters, Pauling settled down in her room and found that with Engineer’s evaluation completed not an hour ago, the only member of the team she had not yet met with was Pyro.

Miss Pauling considered this as the rain tapped her windows, pressing her pen to her lips. She pulled Pyro’s file out from her desk and emptied it, leaving a whirlwind of RED’s data and Pauling’s personal notes on the table. She spread them out so she could see them all at once and studied them: a whole life in two dimensions.

For a while longer she stayed there, studying the patterns and possibilities, measuring and thinking. Most particularly she flipped through the paper-clipped collection of timestamped printouts, each page holding five dark rectangles except for the first, which simply said UPWARD — CLASSIFIED.

But finally she nodded to herself and drew the papers back into their manilla envelope. She grabbed her notebook and pen, removed her thigh holster and gun, and just before she left she stopped to put her hair back up with the little golden letter-opener.

 

* * *

 

“So your field perfomance has been good,” Pauling said, flicking through her little yellow notepad. Pyro let her eyes drop down to it yet again for lack of anything else to look at. The evaluation meeting was in the same second-floor office she had gotten told off in, and there still wasn’t much of anything to see. The big desk between them was still big, and the chairs they were sitting in were definitely chairs. There wasn’t even anything on the walls. But the rain was drumming on the long row of windows and it did interesting things with the faint light, so that wasn’t too bad.

She wasn’t sure how long they’d been in here now, either. Most of what Pauling had been saying sounded like standard professional drone, the kind RED required her to do, and only a few times had Pyro even needed to respond. For most of it so far she had just sat and fidgeted with her mask in her lap. Pauling wouldn’t let her do the evaluation with it on.

And that was why it was actually really obnoxious that there wasn’t anything for Pyro to look at, because all she wanted to do was stare at Pauling.

She had toned down the gawking since her scolding, trying to find a better approach. After all, Pauling hadn’t technically told her to stop. She had just said it was unprofessional or something.

And now they were alone together again, in an isolated room, with a door that locked. Pauling was leaving in two days. Would Pyro let this golden opportunity pass her by? Would she hell.

“Now, on the other hand, your internal relations with the rest of the team have been a little—“

“Internal relations?” Pyro said. As Pauling looked up from her notes, Pyro leaned forward onto the desk. “I could go for some of those.”

Pauling gave her a slow blink, face betraying nothing. Then she looked up at the dusty ceiling tiles, laying her pen down on the desk. A moment later she picked it up again and made a mark on the paper with a flick of her wrist. Pyro watched, not bothering to disguise her leer. “Uh-oh. Am I getting written up?”

“You may want to reconsider your choices. Try to remember your position here.”

“Hey, I know my position. I know lots of positions, I could show you.”

Pauling made another mark on her notepad, slower and more deliberate. Two strikes, Pyro thought. Well then. She’d better make the next one good.

She folded her arms on the desk and rested her head on them, batting her scorched eyelashes. To Pyro it looked like something was glinting in Pauling’s eyes—something dangerous. Something alluring. “C’mon, gorgeous,” Pyro said in a husky voice. “Don’t be like that. I know everyone says you shouldn’t play with fire but you’re so hot I can’t help myself—“

Pauling's pen scratched a third strike, and then dropped to the table.

The pen hitting the table silenced her, and Pauling studied her for a long minute. That dangerous gleam was spreading as the seconds ticked by, moving from her eyes to the rest of her face until Pyro discovered she felt unexpectedly intimidated. Pauling’s chair squeaked as she arose from it, and despite her sudden unease Pyro watched with mounting interest as she went to the door and locked it.

“Okay,” Pauling said as she returned, sitting down primly and steepling her fingers in front of her. She was wearing the lilac-green blouse again today. “Pyro. I was going to keep this under my hat for you because you’re a good employee, and because I like you, and because I still think the Administrator went a little overboard with Demo and that BLU soldier. But since you’ve decided not to listen to me I’m afraid you’ve forced my hand.” Pyro blinked as Pauling smiled at her. “I have an amazing amount of extremely incriminating footage involving you and the BLU scout from the last mission.”

Something in Pyro’s head flickered, then snapped. “... Haha, uh. What?”

“I really would have thought you’d realize that there are cameras everywhere on the fields.” Pauling shook her head. “Your libido is going to get you into trouble, Pyro. Or—I guess it already has.”

Pyro could feel every muscle in her body tensing, her mind racing. “Footage,” she croaked after a moment. “Footage like tapes.”

“Precisely.”

Tapes. Pauling had tapes of her fucking the enemy scout.

Oh, shit.

Oh, _shit_.

Tapes meant evidence. Evidence meant her ass was fired, it was fired instantly, it had to be, sleeping with the enemy was a hell of a lot worse than being friends with them. And getting fired—

—the ugly deer in her room was still exactly where she had left it, the outside hardening into an unattractive flaky mess, the few details she had managed to imbue it with collapsing under their own weight.

She couldn’t go back. Not after RED.

Pauling was smiling at her.

“... Please don’t,” Pyro said. Her voice felt small and pathetic in her mouth. “I’m—I’m sorry. Oh my God I—I’m sorry, you’re right, I’m an idiot, I’m ...” Pauling rested her chin on her hands, watching Pyro with lidded eyes. Pyro tried to choke down the lump in her throat. “I need this job.”

“I know you do.”

“Miss Pauling, _please_.”

Nothing.

Outside, the rain pattered the windows.

“I’ll stop,” Pyro said, grasping at straws now. “I won’t even look at you. I’ll, shit, I’ll convince Scout he’s not interested in you. Whatever you want, I’ll, I can’t—I’m begging you here, please—“

“I thought you wanted my attention, Pyro,” Pauling said, getting to her feet. She leaned onto the desk with her hands, still quite far away, but Pyro shrunk back into her seat anyway. It was remarkable how intimidating a woman barely clearing five feet and weighing less than Heavy’s minigun could be when she put her mind to it. “You’ve finally got it. Is it not what you had in mind?”

“I’m—I’m sorry.”

Pauling breathed a gentle laugh. When Pyro kept right on trying to disappear into her chair, she shook her head. “You’re lucky I’m not heartless. And I do like you. Look. Right now you and I are the only ones who have any idea the tapes exist. It can stay that way if you play your cards right.”

“... Really?”

Pauling leaned in further, and with one hand she reached out to hook two fingers in the collar of Pyro’s suit. She pushed down against the interior zipper, forcing it open, and dragged her fingertips along Pyro’s chest until they hit the lip of her sports bra. Pyro held her breath as Pauling peered down the line of her cleavage. “...Unzip,” she said, so soft Pyro could barely hear her.

All the blood that had fled Pyro’s face when Pauling brought up the tapes rushed back into her cheeks. Her brain surged to catch up, and for a few seconds she just gaped, trying to figure out what was happening. “O—okay, yeah, sure—“

“Shh. Just do it.”

Pyro _shh_ ’d. Instead she yanked the zipper as far down as it went, to just under her ribs. The sleeves of her suit hit the edges of her seat, and then she was wriggling out of her shirt. Pauling moved back, shifting to sit on the edge of the desk. She made a noise of approval as Pyro’s shirt hit the floor. “Good,” she said. “So. If you want me to keep this secret of yours, we’re going to need to come to an ... agreement.” She paused, looking Pyro over. She bit her lip as she studied her, then gestured for her to get up and turn around in a circle. “... The agreement being you do absolutely everything I say tonight.”

Holy shit. She was going to get what she wanted tonight anyway. “Y, yeah, sure,” Pyro said, getting up to obey. The mask was left on the chair. Pauling’s gaze seemed tangible and heavy as it slid over her exposed skin, her ribs, her breasts. Pyro stopped once she had completed a three-sixty, looking up to meet Pauling’s eyes. The danger was still in them.

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve been checking out your ass for six months, I’m pretty damn sure.”

“Mm. You might want to think about what you say a little more.” Pauling wet her lips, still eyeing her. “And of course the team never hears about this. Understand?”

“Yes’m.”

“Good. Drop the suit. Bra, too.”

Pyro shoved the chemsuit down her hips and her legs, tearing her boots off in the process and kicking them all to the side. Beneath she had threadbare jeans cut off mid-thigh and unshaven legs. The jeans followed just as quick, and a moment later she was struggling out of the ragged sports bra. As she pulled it off, the cool air of the office hit her breasts like ice, and she shivered.

There she was, stripped nearly bare. Only her briefs remained to keep her decent. From the desk, Pauling was still, taking her in. An eternity yawned by before she spoke. “You’re much more good-looking than Scout would like to believe.”

“Well, yeah,” Pyro muttered. “Scout wouldn’t know hot if it grabbed him by the balls.”

Pauling snorted, then crooked her finger to gesture her closer. She straightened out her legs as Pyro came near, leaning back on her arms. With a smooth motion she kicked off her flats, stretching her toes in her hosiery. She lifted an eyebrow at Pyro, who had begun staring again. “These aren’t going to remove themselves.”

Didn’t have to tell her twice. Pyro sidled closer, laying a hand on the sheer fabric. Pauling shifted her weight to her arms as Pyro slipped her hands up the skirt until she found the hem of the tights, and she watched carefully the whole time they were rolled down and off her legs. Pauling took the hose from her hands before she could drop it to the floor, deposited it safe in her chair, and then scooted further forward until she was barely still on the edge of the desk.

One of her hands had found its way to her thigh, sliding over the pale skin. Paying no attention to Pyro at all now, she drew her skirt higher until just the edge of her panties could be seen—black lace. Pyro watched, rapt, as she peeled those down, too. They had gotten down to her ankle when Pyro made to draw nearer. “Stay put.” She kicked the underwear off and it landed at Pyro’s feet.

Pyro whined. “But—“

“You’re an adult. You can control yourself, can’t you?” Pauling said, smirking as she slid her hand down between her legs. God damn. Pyro wet her lips and stared, hugging her arms to her chest as Pauling began to touch herself.

Watching her was kind of like watching a fire grow. It left Pyro antsy and itchy, shifting from one foot to the other over and over. She couldn’t even see anything, between the bunching folds of the skirt and Pauling’s hand. That made it worse. Everything about this was terrible: Pauling’s self-satisfied sighs and the way she arched her back and crooned, the way her legs sometimes jerked or shook. And Pyro couldn’t do anything.

By the time Pauling pulled her hand away Pyro could feel the wet and the heat between her own legs. The slightest twitch of her weight made her shudder. She didn’t bother biting back the faint _oh_ that bubbled up in her mouth as the woman before her shifted to slip off the desk entirely. The skirt was riding so high it may was well not have been there, and her thighs were damp. “Okay,” she said with a heave of her chest.

“Okay?”

“Show me what you can do.”

Oh. Oh yes. Pyro was there in a heartbeat, dropping to her knees and putting her calloused fingers on Pauling’s thighs. She edged forward, and it was the scent that got to her before anything else. It was rich and raw and good, and as she pressed her lips to Pauling’s the smell filled up her throat and her lungs, druglike. She dragged her tongue up against her and got a breathless sigh.

The fire between her own legs flared. As she searched out what Pauling had given her she slunk one hand down to her own crotch.

Something seized her by the arm. She stopped mid-lick, sputtering. “Hey!”

“Hands where I can see them.”

“Hell no!”

Pauling’s brow furrowed, and she dug her nails into Pyro’s skin. “This isn’t negotiable,” she said as Pyro grimaced, trying to pull away. “You’ve got your orders, follow them.”

“For fuck’s sake...”

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” Pyro mumbled as her arm was released, putting one hand on the desk and using the other to hoist Pauling’s leg up at a better angle. Pauling let her, and just like that Pyro was distracted. She wet her lips and inhaled that scent again, made a hungry kind of whimper, and opened her mouth.

She drew her tongue all along Pauling’s edges, dipping just-barely inside seldom enough to keep it interesting. She soon learned that Pauling was not one for moaning: she would murmur or whisper sometimes, hissing under her breath. When Pyro felt hands on her head, pushing her closer, a shiver ran down her back. Everything on her that could ache did, from between her legs to her breasts, but she kept her hands on Pauling’s thighs. She obeyed.

When she put her mouth on Pauling’s clit that finally got her something new: a drawn-out, sharp kind of groan. A flick of her tongue and the hands in her hair tightened their grip. Pyro kissed her there, slow, and after she felt Pauling shudder she moved her hand further in. The first finger slipped in and Pauling lifted her hips, and when Pyro added a second she was rewarded with a real, actual moan.

There was something shockingly pleasant about it all. The fact she seemed to be doing a good job helped. If she was being honest Pyro had only ever slept with two other women before, and both times she had been on the receiving end for most of it. But Pauling didn’t seem to mind her fumbling. When her breathing turned shallow and Pyro could feel every jerk of her hips, she took it to mean she was doing alright.

Another minute or so of this and Pauling gasped, pushing Pyro away. Pyro sat back on her heels, panting and licking the wet from her lips. Her chin was soaked. Before her Pauling shivered against the desk, knees pulled together with her skirt falling down as if she had a reason to being worrying about modesty right now. Her hair was drifting out of its bun. For the first time Pyro noticed she was wearing the letter-opener again.

Time seemed to drag, and the longer it went the harder it became for Pyro to distract herself from the tapes. Was that it? Was she done? “Um,” she said after a while of watching Pauling’s chest heave. “Is that—is that it?”

Pauling put up a hand, swallowing hard. It occurred to Pyro that she didn’t have a damn fucking clue if she’d properly brought her over the edge or not, or if she had just overwhelmed her. The second option was fun to think about. “Just a second,” Pauling said, shaking her head. “Just a second. Nicely done.”

“Oh, uh, thanks.”

A moment or two later, Pauling slipped off the desk. She rolled her shoulders, sighing, and then looked back at Pyro. From below, the view was glorious. It only got better when Pauling unbuttoned her sweat-damp polo and pulled it off. It joined her underwear on the floor.

Carefully, Pyro got up off her knees, grimacing as the blood flowed back into them. Getting her balance back was a trick. By the time she’d managed it Pauling had settled down in one of the chairs, the one that had had her hosiery in it, and sat carefully smoothing it out. “Have a seat,” she said pleasantly. “On the desk, please.”

Pyro obeyed, biting her lip as the cool top of the desk met her bare skin. For another few seconds her boss was focused on the tights, checking them over. Apparently satisfied, she dropped them onto the floor, beneath the chair. “I try to keep them in good shape,” she said. “It’s not exactly easy with the job, but buying new ones is a hassle.”

Pauling crossed her knees and leaned forward. Pyro’s line of sight put her cleavage front and center. She swallowed, a little dizzy. “Now what?” she asked.

“I’d like to talk about your performance,” Pauling said. A smirk pulled at her mouth at Pyro’s bewildered look. “This _is_ an evaluation, Pyro. Your performance. On the tapes. I watched them, you know, reviewing security footage is one of the things I do. It _did_ make a boring Wednesday night more interesting.”

“Well, it was a hell of a show,” Pyro said before she could stop herself. She stopped cold, fingers digging into the edge of the desk, but Pauling only laughed.

“I’ll admit that,” she said, reaching up and pulling the letter-opener out of her bun. Her hair slid down in a way that seemed much different from the way it had just a few days ago. It was slower and wilder, strands sticking to her cheeks before she brushed them away. “I seem to recall you asking to be roughed up once or twice during one of your sessions, right?”

“Uh—uh, yeah.” That had been her favorite part. She had told him to claw her up the second night, to bite and shove, and he had been only too happy to oblige. By the time they were done her nose was bloodied and her shoulders were covered in teeth marks and angry red welts, and when she got back to the base and looked at herself in the mirror she had had to stop and get herself off one last time.

Pauling hummed low in her throat, her eyes hungry as they searched over Pyro’s body again. The letter-opener glinted in the pale light as she toyed with it. Pyro eyed it, suddenly nervous about the direction the conversation had taken. “Nothing crazy,” she added. “Nothing … hard.”

“That’s a shame,” Pauling said. The blade flashed.

“Miss Pauling—”

“Hush. Let me see. We’ve established that you have good oratory skills.” (“Oh my God,” Pyro mumbled.) “How are you with your hands?”

Pyro blinked, lifting her hand to look at it—the bitten nails and callous-ridden fingertips. Pauling sat back again, the letter-opener dangling loosely from her fingers. “Go on. Give me a show. I know you like to show off, you’re nearly as bad as Scout.”

“I don’t—what?”

She got a little sigh in answer. “I want you to touch yourself, Pyro.” Her eyes glittered. “Anywhere but between your legs.”

“I—y’know I thought if I ever did get you into bed things would go a lot differently than this.”

“I’m waiting.”

Oh, God, this was weird. Pyro straightened up a little, unsure how to start. She put her hands on her legs, remembered she couldn’t go that direction, and with more than a little frustration slid her palms higher until she was crossing her arms. The motion squished her chest, and that seemed as good a place to start as any.

What the hell had the scout done that had felt so good? She tried to remember as she squeezed one of her breasts, the one with more scarring than the other, and shifted to roll her nipple between her finger and thumb.

Coaxing the first moan out felt artificial and hollow, but the ones that came after sounded better to her ears. It helped that a few more hard gropes warmed her up enough to lose most of her self-consciousness. She dragged her nails across her skin, pinched herself, put her fingertips in her mouth and sucked. The burn inside her grew, and it wasn’t long before she was clenching down on nothing, shifting her hips to try and abate some of it. It wasn’t helping. It was mostly making it worse, making her bite her lip and grimace and growl.

She was straying dangerously close to her briefs.  Her hand lingered on her thigh, getting closer and closer—it brushed the hem of the last of her clothing—

Her fingers touched the center of the fabric between her legs, just barely. It wasn’t even anywhere exciting, just the front, over her bush. It was that motion, though, that got Pauling up on her feet, closing the short distance between them. Pyro jerked her hand away like lightning, but it was too late. Pauling put her palm square onto Pyro’s breastbone and pushed her down flat onto the desk. The shock of cold on her skin made her yelp. “Shit, come on, Pauling—”

“Is it really this hard for you to follow simple directions?” Pauling said, tone stark with disappointment as she leaned over her.

Pyro opened her mouth, something irritable and sassy on the tip of her tongue, and promptly shut it again when Pauling lay the letter-opener against her neck. It was cold, and Pyro narrowed her eyes. "Stop it," she said sharply, grabbing the letter-opener with her bare hand and sitting up. "Don't push me around."

Miss Pauling had paused. The ice had gone out of her face, and she was just the cute girl Pyro worked for again, for a moment, a little shamefaced. "Sorry," she said. "I got carried away."

Pyro glared up at her for a few seconds, sussing out her sincerity. It was enough to trust, she decided. "Okay," she said, and let go of the blade. A moment's deliberation, and pressed it back against her neck. "Where were we?"

A little wickedness had crept back into Pauling's face. She flicked her wrist and Pyro bit her tongue as a red stripe was drawn along the side of her throat. Not a cut, just a scratch. It lit up Pyro’s nerves, the thrill overriding the pain. “About here, I think,” Pauling answered, taking Pyro’s chin in her free hand.

"Sounds right," Pyro got out through grit and grinning teeth.

Pauling smiled. The knife stayed where it was. Pauling’s hand on her chin, though, moved down the other side of Pyro’s neck. It lit on her collarbone and traced the scars there before easing further, finding her breasts. She gave one a squeeze and Pyro shut her eyes for a moment, exhaling. It felt so much better when someone else did it. Then Pauling ran her thumb over her nipple and Pyro arched her back up toward her, digging her fingers into the wood.

Off the hand went again. Pyro grit her teeth as it dragged over her ribs and down her stomach, nudged her legs wider when it reached her crotch. Pauling slid her palm down Pyro’s front, a slow pressure that wasn’t satisfying at all, only to pull away when Pyro tried to push against her. What she got instead was another scratch from the letter-opener. When she moaned and said _more_ , she heard Pauling huff a laugh. “I never took you for a masochist.” Before Pyro could answer Pauling had leaned over to kiss her, long, hard, and before she pulled away again she bit Pyro’s lower lip and began to make her way down her neck, to her shoulder, all kisses and bites.

As she did her hand was working again, starting to drag the soaked fabric down Pyro’s legs. It took some fumbling but in the end she managed to get them most of the way down and it only took some kicking for Pyro to throw them off her legs. Pauling slid her hand up the inside of her thigh, smooth. As she did Pyro finally dared move again, even with Pauling’s teeth in her shoulder. She reached up and around, finding the bra clasp and fighting it until it snapped open. There was a pause in things as Pauling registered what had happened; in the end she simply shifted to work the thing off from around her arms and drop it onto the floor. The letter-opener joined it, and by the sound of things it bounced once it hit the ground to skitter away somewhere else.

The next thing Pyro knew Pauling was pulling herself up onto the desk with her, on her hands and knees above her. Her hair poured down over her shoulders, not quite long enough to reach Pyro’s face but more than enough to blinker her from anything else in the room. All there was in the world was Miss Pauling, her cheeks flushed red, eyes alight with some primal fire. Something shot down Pyro’s spine, straight to her core, and with a soft sound she reached up and pulled Pauling down into another kiss.

This one was gentler than before, at least at first, and Pyro reveled in it. Then she bit Pauling’s lip and received the same thing back, only harder, and then the kiss was broken. Pyro hardly noticed—she was too busy gasping as Pauling reached down and pressed in between her legs, fingers small and delicate enough that she could slip them right in without any trouble. She groaned, hands scrabbling for a grip on Pauling’s shoulders. She could hear her breathing right next to her ear, shallow but steady, and by now that sound on its own was enough to drive Pyro crazy. She squeezed down on the two fingers already in her, whimpering, and when a third joined them and a thumb came down on her clit she cried out. Her hips bucked independent of her own will and she thought it was going to happen right then, just like that.

Pauling pressed her mouth to the side of Pyro’s throat again, her kiss hard and maybe even possessive. At the same time she jerked her hand inside her just so, and the sound it dragged out of Pyro was unmistakably a wail. The pressure on her clit turned into fast, rough circles that left her scrabbling at Pauling’s back, ragged nails clawing down her skin. When Pauling bit down on the spot where Pyro’s shoulders and neck met, it was a matter of seconds before it was over. She came with a sharp moan followed by something like a breathless sob, shaking all over. Pauling didn’t take away her hand until Pyro shoved her arm, too far gone to worry about behaving herself.

She got no reprimand, at least. Pauling just grinned, really grinned, and sat back to watch Pyro pant and squirm. The aftershocks were unlike anything she had experienced before. When she could focus her vision again she looked at Pauling in time to see her sucking her fingers clean, and another shudder crept through her. “Th, that,” Pyro said. “Oh, God.”

“Very nice,” Pauling said. “Excellent, even. I may need to extend our agreement indefinitely.”

Pyro swallowed. “If this is your idea of blackmail, absolutely.”

 

* * *

 

They were slow to redress. Miss Pauling managed it quicker than Pyro, who stayed where she was on the desk for a few minutes longer, her chest still heaving. Pauling admired it as she pulled her tights back on. The freckles went all the way down, she’d been delighted to discover. It was cute.

When at last Pyro slid off the desk and stumbled over to her clothes, Pauling had already rearranged herself into something that didn’t scream “just-fucked.” She got to watch as Pyro hauled her underthings back on, followed by her jeans, shirt, and suit. She got it all back on in under forty-five seconds. It was bizarre, watching her disappear back into anonymity. All she was missing was her mask. She grabbed it from the chair and turned it over, but did not pull it on.

She adjusted her collar to try and hide one of the higher hickeys, and when that didn’t work she just made a face at it before looking back to Pauling. For a few seconds they stared at each other. Then Pyro grinned. “So,” she said, stretching out her arms above her head, carefree as anything, “I pass evaluation, right?”

Pauling couldn’t help it: she laughed. “Yes,” she said, “I guess you do. All set?”

“Yeah. Uh, so we’re clear—the tapes—? I know what I said but, uh...”

“Will be destroyed, provided you stop gawking at me.”

“I can't make any promises.”

“Hmm.”

In another five minutes they were out of the office. Pauling did not realize her hair was still down until Scout asked her why.

And back in her room, with her door locked and enjoying her exhaustion, Pyro turned the golden letter-opener she had pocketed as she redressed over in her hand, admiring the way the light caught it.


End file.
